


The Introduction of the Bastard of Arthur Dayne

by jesuisbree



Series: The True Sword of the Morning [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7605148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisbree/pseuds/jesuisbree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I present to you Ser Alastair of House Dayne, current Sword of the Morning.” He cared not for the knight, though hearing the title Sword of the Morning drew him to one of his previous fellow Kingsguard, one long forgotten by all in the capitol now. All he cared was to know more about the woman who stood before him. She righted herself, meeting his eyes as she stood to her full height. Jaime just started at her expectantly, raising a brow and waiting for her to introduce herself. Her lips pursed almost imperceptibly, before she drew in a deep breath of air. “And I am Ayleth…of Starfall,” she finished, her eyes never leaving Jaime’s. No fancy titles, nothing remarkable about her name, though she spoke and carried herself like a highborn. A scoff left the man beside her that had her eyes sharply darting over to him.</i>
</p><p>  <i>	“Don’t be modest, Ayleth, it doesn’t suit you,” Alastair said in a low voice, his dark blue eyes focusing on Ayleth for a moment. She merely stared back boldly, mouth set in a firm line. “Ayleth is the bastard child of Ser Arthur Dayne, legitimized by the Mad King when she was very young.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am a new fan of the series and have only just watched the TV show --I will eventually get around to reading the books! This is just an idea I had and decide to roll with it to write a short story to get me back into the feel of writing. I am also new to this website and I'm excited to have a place to put up my work for others to read. Please be kind and enjoy!

The sun was beating down brutally on King’s Landing that day, as it seemed they had reached the middle of the summer. So, naturally, when King Robert decided to hold one of his many royal tourneys, there were many who scoffed at the idea of being dressed head-to-toe in heavy armor and asked to try to uproot each other off horses with lances or knock someone to the ground and efficiently disarm them. Ladies and lords had taken to wearing thinner fabrics, and long hair was either cropped short or worn in elaborate braids woven around heads to keep the hair off of the back of the neck. In such humidity, sweat rolled off of bodies within a few moments of being outside. Unfortunate for the Kingsguard and all others who were sworn to protect, they were doomed to wear thick armor and clothing constantly in the nigh unbearable heat.

A few tents had been pitched along the outskirts of the royal gardens; two, to be exact. Apparently, either there was no room left for them in the Red Keep, or a certain King or Queen did not wish them to be invited to stay within the walls of the royal home. Of course, it wouldn’t be expected that those invited to the participate in the tourney to stay in any inns around Kings Landing, so they were kept close, but not too close. The tourney was just a day off, so the capitol was in a tizzy over who would win what and who would be crowned the victor. Blacksmiths were working full paced around the city, making sure the ornate armor the participants were to wear was in the best condition.

Jaime Lannister, knight in the Kingsguard, also known as “Kingslayer”, was given reprieve of his knightly duties to better prepare for the tourney. He was currently taking a walk in the gardens, clearing his head a bit while his armor was off being seen to, repaired, and shined up for the next day. Jaime thought it a bit useless, since it normally got dirtied up after the first event, but appearances were appearances. The air was humid and there was a warm breeze rustling the plants and trees around him. His eyes caught site of a royal purple tent pitched to the far side of the garden and he could faintly hear the sound of metal crashing against metal in quick succession.

Curiosity piqued, the blonde knight found himself wandering toward the tent, hoping to size up a bit of his competition from afar prior to the tourney. It’d be rare to find a threat bigger to him in the tourneys than the ones he already knew, but it’d still be nice to see how well whoever it was sparring in the royal gardens fought. The closer he got to the tent, a house crest came into view; one that Jaime had never seen in Kings Landing, let alone at the Red Keep. A white sword was intersected on a diagonal by a falling star in silver fabric on purple fabric the same color as the tent behind it fluttered in a hot breeze stuck on a pole in the ground.

“Ease up,” a voice called, followed by a loud rasp of a laugh and more clangs of a sword against a sword. A figure took backward steps away from someone; they had a mop of dark brown, nearly black curly hair that barely grazed the tops of his ears. He was wearing light, leather practice gear, so Jaime could only assume they were sparring with unsharpened blades, much like the ones that would be used in the tourney. This figure was tall and lithe, but looked like he could swing a sword and do it well. Jaime took note that he wielded a two-handed sword; a two-handed sword that was quickly batted away by two single-handed blades.

The lion paused for a moment, hand resting by habit on the pommel of his blade, as he watched the two with rapt attention. Another figure stepped into view and Jaime studied them for a moment before realizing there was no way they were in the tourney; women weren’t allowed to join. She was as tall and slender as the man she sparred with, but had enough curves to her form to differentiate her immediately from the man. Her hair was the same more-black-than-brown shade and cropped bluntly to her chin in loose waves. However, she was far more fair in complexion than the man. She wore a purple bodice that fit low on her chest, hugged her figure, and fell to the bottom of her thighs, slitted up the sides and down the front and back for ease of movement. The top exposed her arms completely, but she wore tight-fitting dark brown gloves that covered up to her elbows. The breeches she wore were also a dark brown and were off set by a pair of scuffed black boots that reached her knees.

“Why ease up? They won’t ease up on you tomorrow,” the woman replied in a low, full voice that lilted with a rasp. She smirked at him and continued to push the man back with a quick, dance-like assault of her dual blades. Despite himself, Jaime found that he was quite impressed with the way the woman could fight, even more-so than the man. Her words seemed to spark an extra burst of drive in the man and he lunged at her with his greatsword, causing her to easily sidestep him. She took this opportunity to switch her place and stand behind him. The man reacted and spun wildly, but the woman had already jumped back, placing more distance between the two. Her expression was one of pure joy, a wide smile curled her features, while the man looked like he was concentrating very hard on what he was doing and watching the woman.

With one swift and graceful movement, the woman leapt toward the man, kicking her legs into the air so she spur like a whirligig, blades flying out on either side of her. She struck the greatsword hard with one blade, effectively knocking it from the man’s grip, and with the other she swung at the crook of his neck. He dodged it but lost his footing and sprawled out on his back, the dirt crunching underneath him after the flurry of movement. The woman landed with a cat-like grace on both feet and planted a foot, more gently than was necessary for even their sparring, on his chest and dug the tips of each blade on either side of his neck and crossed the blades in an X. If this were a real battle, she could have easily scissored the blades and sliced off his head.

Jaime was certain he’d never seen anything like the woman and her fighting-style; except for one knight he knew that fought with two blades. He was also certain that, while she may not best him in a duel, she would certainly be able to keep even him on his toes. Part of him wanted to see if there were any way he could allow her to take part in the tourney, if not for something to entertain himself with, but knew better. Any interest in this woman may be misconstrued for emotions that only one woman he knew held sway over. As it was, Jaime would probably be crowned victor in both events.

“Why don’t you enter tomorrow for me?” The man grumbled, a frown wrought on his features. The woman merely grinned triumphantly and removed the blades, sheathing them at her sides, and extending her hand to help the man up. She easily lifted him to his feet, her expression falling to something a bit more somber, yet she kept he smile on her lips.

“You know I can't on more than one account,” she replied, her smile turning a bit more crooked in nature. It was at this time that Jaime decided to make himself known, for reasons he didn’t know. He could have easily turned and walked away, but something about the woman interested him and he needed to know who they were and where they were from—he didn’t recognize their sigil.

Removing his hand from the pommel of his sword, he clapped slowly, taking steps over toward the two. Two sets of eyes quickly spun over to him, clearly unaware that they had been watched. It was then Jaime noticed just how much alike the man and woman looked, but that their eyes were starkly different: the man had dark blue eyes, but the woman had bright violet eyes. As Jaime stopped in front of them, he found himself openly staring at the woman, unaware of just how beautiful she was until this moment. She had high cheekbones, a slender straight nose that was spattered with light freckles, a pleasant, full mouth, but the most striking thing about her were those eyes. Right now, recognition was flashing in those eyes of hers. He swallowed hard, finding his mouth dry for some reason. He felt there was something familiar about her face, something tucked deep in his mind that he knew should be recognized but wasn’t. The feeling overall—the dryness of his mouth and familiar face staring back at him— was rather foreign to him and it unsettled him greatly. He only hoped his discomfort wasn’t apparent on his features.

“Nice sparring,” Jaime commented—a rare occurrence. It was more directed toward the woman than the man, but there was no way that they would be able to tell otherwise. The man’s expression was a slightly dark one, as if he knew who was talking to him as well. The name was hanging thick in the air, even if it went unsaid— Kingslayer. Though, his expression could be the product of Jaime watching him spar and flattened by the woman who stood beside him. She looked a bit sheepish now, as if she knew she had embarrassed the man. Silence lingered between the three of them; the woman was eyeing Jaime as carefully as he was regarding her and the man had not taken his eyes from Jaime either. Finally, the woman delicately cleared her throat.

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” she started softly, curtsying low and bowing her head to expose the small, intricate braids that kept her hair out of her face, “I present to you Ser Alastair of House Dayne, current Sword of the Morning.” He cared not for the knight, though hearing the title Sword of the Morning drew him to one of his previous fellow Kingsguard, one long forgotten by all in the capitol now. All he cared was to know more about the woman who stood before him. She righted herself, meeting his eyes as she stood to her full height. Jaime just started at her expectantly, raising a brow and waiting for her to introduce herself. Her lips pursed almost imperceptibly, before she drew in a deep breath of air. “And I am Ayleth…of Starfall,” she finished, her eyes never leaving Jaime’s. No fancy titles, nothing remarkable about her name, though she spoke and carried herself like a highborn. A scoff left the man beside her that had her eyes sharply darting over to him.

“Don’t be modest, Ayleth, it doesn’t suit you,” Alastair said in a low voice, his dark blue eyes focusing on Ayleth for a moment. She merely stared back boldly, mouth set in a firm line. “Ayleth is the bastard child of Ser Arthur Dayne, legitimized by the Mad King when she was very young.” Surprise surely read across Ser Jaime’s features as he stared back at the woman, who was eyeing him apprehensively, as if she were afraid what his reaction might be. He was unsure what her father had told her of him, if anything, before his death. Jaime swallowed hard, staring deep into those purple eyes of hers. Now it all became clear, her mouth, jaw, and nose definitely favored her father—she definitely appeared to be her father’s daughter.

“Your father was a good man. I knew him well,” was all he managed to say, memories of his early days in the Kingsguard flooding back to him. He could have continued on, launched into a thousand stories, but the look in her eyes was silently begging him not to continue. Apparently, this was a sour subject for her, Alastair, or both of them. Instead, he opted to change the subject. He stared at Ayleth, studying the beauty before him before turning his gaze back to Alastair. “Looking forward to the tourney tomorrow? This is your first in the capitol, if I’m not mistaken,” he spoke to the knight, tilting his head to the side and causing a few blonde strands of hair to fall in his eyes.

“You are correct, Ser Jaime,” Alastair replied with a nod, “and I am.” He paused for moment before looking to the ground at his feet. It was clear that Ser Alastair lacked the confidence that Jaime had and it could prove to be a hinderance in his try at winning the tourney. “I’m sure that you witnessed our Ayleth here winning our little sparring match.” Ayleth shot a glance over to Alastair, a confident little grin curling her lips that quickly fell when Alastair shot her a look.

“I did,” Jaime said with a nod, watching the dark haired woman closely. She wore a bashful expression, staring at Alastair through her eyelashes. He noticed the man was staring over at her darkly. The lion knew he had to say something to get the wrath of Alastair from Ayleth, but he was scrambling. Finally, he managed, “But I’m sure no man you face in the tourney will fight quite like Ayleth does. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” The woman’s eyes shot to his and the smirk returned, something lighting in her eyes that previously wasn’t there. Jaime thought it looked a lot like desire, as so many women liked to look at him with, but he could have been mistaken. He was brought from his thoughts when he heard a scoff from Alastair. Jaime turned to the knight of Starfall to find he was now scowling over at him, thought it was much darker than the glare he had been directing at Ayleth.

“See you at the tourney, Kingslayer,” he nearly spat before turning and starting away from the two of them, forgoing solitude in his tent for a stroll around the gardens. Jaime didn’t flinch at the name. He was used to it by now. He did see Ayleth’s expression darken dramatically as she turned to Alastair and it suddenly became very uncanny how much she favored her father, especially with such a fearsome look on her features.

“Mind your tongue,” she snapped back brusquely, upper lip curling slightly and Jaime wondered what would happen to a man who made the woman, who was so skilled with not just swords but movement in general, angry. Alastair paid her no mind and continued to walk off. Ayleth watched him darkly for a moment before she leaned down at picked up the greatsword Alastair had sparred with. “Forgive him, Ser,” she said once she righted herself, grasping the sword like it was an extension of her appendage, “he oft forgets his manners. I blame his mother for that. He’s never learned it is not kind to call someone names. Excuse me.”

She turned from Jaime, placing the sword in a sheath and slinging the belt it was attached to over her shoulder. It looked like she meant to enter her tent, but for some reason, Jaime wanted to spend just a little more time with the woman. To meet the daughter of Ser Arthur Dayne, prior to a tourney for that matter, was unbelievable. And to find that she was as feared and as able a fighter as her father was interested him greatly. He wanted to ask her so many questions about her father, how she came to fight the way she did, why Alastair seemed so cross with her, and why she was accompanying him in the first place. However, those seemed like iffy subjects to broach with her, and Jaime did not want this woman’s anger directed at him.

“Will you be at the tourney tomorrow?” He asked, causing her to pause and turn to him. Her eyes met his once more and the two stood there for a moment, just watching each other. The was something unsaid in the air, crackling like before lightning strikes. She was just so unlike any woman he’d ever seen, so much so that he forgot how he felt about someone else—it wasn’t like she wanted much to do with him lately. She was still too busy doting on the young daughter she was raising and it was like Jaime had some sort of pox. He wasn't sure what he had done, but he knew better than to try and get a straight answer out of Cersei. It was best to stay away and let itself sort it all out. The woman who stood before him seemed so unreal, like she was woven by something much more than what humans are made from. It was pulling him in, calling him to spend more time with the woman—a silent siren song from Ayleth of Starfall.

“I will,” she said with a nod. A few more moments passed and her expression softened a bit, a playful little grin curling her lips. “I know I’m attending for the sake of Alastair…but after his lapse of manners, I may place my favor in someone else winning. It would be a shame if that Ser dishonored my favor, wouldn’t it?” The musing that left her lips was wry, yet full of jest and confidence. Her bright violet eyes wandered openly over Jaime and he drew in a deep breath of air through his nose at the wolfish sort of grin on her lips. He swallowed hard as she spoke again, the look in her eyes never leaving, “Good day, Ser Jaime. I shall see you tomorrow.” She curtsied low once more and Jaime’s eyes couldn’t help but to be drawn to the low cut of her bodice. He bowed low, much lower than he was accustomed to bowing in return, and righted himself in time to see Ayleth disappear into the dark purple tent. His eyes swooped over her figure as she left and he let out a slow breath of air, one he was unaware her had been holding in.

The bastard daughter of Ser Arthur Dayne was here in Kings Landing for the tourney, he thought, as he turned and started out of the gardens, hand resting once more on the pommel of his blade. The bastard daughter of Ser Arthur Dayne was everything that would be expected of a man such as him; one of the best fighters he’d seen, clear-spoken, and witty. The bastard daughter of Ser Arthur Dayne was a beautiful young woman, with a fair, yet strong face, shapely in just the right places, and not afraid to be forward. To say Jaime Lannister was intrigued was an understatement.


	2. Chapter 2

The day of the tourney arrived and the capitol was alive with the fervor of watching some good sport. It provided a good deal more excitement than what they were used to around Kings Landing. Thankfully, the sun was intermittently covered by a thin layer of clouds and there was a pleasant breeze that would at least the take the edge of the heat off for those watching the tourney and those participating in it as well. 

Ayleth was walking toward the tourney grounds beside Alastair and his squire, her hands were clasped in front of her and her eyes were directed in front of her as well. She was still quite cross with Alastair and she was sure he noticed how she had reacted in the presence of one Ser Jaime Lannister. Instead of wearing practice gear, she was wearing something a bit more formal. She chose a long gown made of a thin, purple fabric with a transparent purple fabric over it. The opaque fabric of the dress was sleeveless, but the transparent covered the rest of of her arms loosely. Two silvery cuffs closed the bottom of the sleeves off from the wrist to elbow, looking mighty like a thin, light pair of bracers with small swirling designs on them. The top was as low cut as the bodice she had worn the other day and silvery threads had been braided into her hair, the few thin braids keeping her hair out of her face.

Once they reached the tourney grounds, Ayleth turned to Alastair, their eyes meeting for the first time all day. She looked him over before nodding once, as if she was approving of the state of his shining, silvery armor, and meeting his eyes once more. A heavy sigh escaped her before she spoke. “Just remember what I’ve taught you and you should do fine. Jousting was always your strong suit anyways.” Alastair merely nodded once before turning and marching toward the stables, presumably to fetch his horse. His squire merely shot Ayleth a look before following after him.

The woman shook her head and let out another sigh. At least she could say that she tried with him; it wasn’t like she was purposefully mean to him. She turned to find a spot near the jousting arena and nearly ran headfirst into someone. A gasp escaped her as she took a step back, immediately looking up into the dark green eyes of one Jaime Lannister. 

“Excuse me, Ser Jaime,” she said, curtsying low in an apology. Jaime mirrored her actions in a bow, a teasing sort of smile on his lips. Once them both righted themselves, they let their eyes slowly wander over the other. Jaime was dressed all in gold and red and lion crests, quite a sight to behold in his armor, especially with the smile he wore. Ayleth noted that he placed the part of the ‘knight in shining armor’ well, causing her to bite her bottom lip as she refrained from commenting on just how dashing he looked. He looked at a loss for words at the finely dressed woman before him, wearing a dress quite unlike what the women in the capitol were wearing. It was very attractive, to say the least.

“No harm done, Ayleth,” he replied, that smirk still playing around his mouth. It fell slightly as he watched her, knowing that despite the small smile she wore, there was something that laid deeper in those amethyst eyes of hers. “Ser Alastair is still cross with you?” He questioned and she pursed her lips for a moment before nodding.

“When is he not,” she said with a shake of her head and a small shrug of her shoulders, turning her eyes to the jousting area before her eyes flittered back to Jaime, “Let him be. Better him bested by me in front of one person than every noble and the King in Kings Landing.” She drew in a deep breath of air, biting her bottom lip for a moment before continuing. Jaime’s eyes darted to her lips for a brief moment, a jolt running through him as he watched her teeth tear at her lip. He vaguely wondered what the texture and shape of them would feel like against his lips. “He’d be furious if he knew I was telling you this, but he sees you as his biggest competition, Ser Jaime. To be beat by someone, especially a woman, in front of his biggest competition…well…it is an insult of the highest manner. That is probably the main reason for why he is so mad at me…at least this time.” She smiled wryly up at him and again, there was a flash of some deeper emotion in those eyes of hers. A certain sort of melancholy and sadness that had Jaime feeling a bit of pity toward the beautiful being in front of him.

“Were it proper, Ayleth, would you compete in the tourney?” He questioned, raising a brow as he watched the look deepen for a moment before a smirk curled that pleasant mouth of hers.

“Perhaps, Ser Jaime,” she started, eyes locked on his. She paused for a moment, placing her hands on her hips before a wide grin took over her features. “Though if it were to be proper for a woman to compete and I were to do so, you would have to face a more challenging rival than any of the men here today,” she added, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Jaime’s brows shot skyward as he watched her for a few moments in silence, her comment catching him off guard. She paused for a beat, looking pleased at the surprised reaction she garnered from Jaime. Before he could reply, she finished her thought with, “Good luck, Ser Jaime.” She curtsied low, bowing her head before stepping around him easily. 

He watched her slender retreating form with a bit of pleasant shock on his features as she made her way, presumably to find a spot to watch the jousting portion of the tourney. A low laugh escaped him as he shook his head. He let his eyes wander over her before turning and heading toward the stables to fetch his squire and his horse. She was certainly much different than any woman he’d ever encountered.

Alastair had placed second in jousting, next to Jaime Lannister, and he had been furious. He found some way to pin it back on Ayleth, bringing it back around to the prior day’s sparring match that was unknowingly watched by Jaime. Ayleth made her way back to their tents with her head down, listening to Alastair gripe to both her and his squire. However, instead of getting a rise out of her, she kept her expression neutral, as if all the nasty comments and accusations he was spewing at her weren’t bothering her.

Once they got back to their tents, Alastair and his squire disappeared into their tent. Ayleth stared at the swaying fabric that separated the two of them, debating on wether she wanted to close herself into her own tent. With a dark look, she turned and began to walk toward the gardens. The sun was just about set, casting an array of orange, purple, and pink ribbons of clouds across the sky. The servants were lighting large fires around the gardens, lighting up the trees and other plants with a flickering and waning orange glow. 

Over the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, Ayleth could hear the sound of waves crashing into the shore as her mind thought over the events of the joust. Jaime had done much better in jousting than Alastair ever could. He deserved to win, despite how many people thought the match was immediately tipped to his favor with having a Queen for a sister. She could see where Alastair got angry at being bested by someone. Alastair was the talk of Starfall, the equivalent of Jaime Lannister amongst the knights and women in all of Dorne. Handsome, strong, brave, and, not to mention, he held the highest title a knight in Starfall could. He was a decent swordsman, but he was not better than Ayleth and now he knew that he probably didn’t stand a chance against Ser Jaime.

Her feet carried her to an off shoot from the main gardens, far from the light the lanterns provided. The soles of her boots crunched softly against the fine gravel beneath her feet. Her eyes caught sight of a bench and a clearing that overlooked the sea. A small smile curled her lips as she stepped over to the bench and lowered herself onto it with a soft sigh. The sea breeze ruffled her short hair as she watched what waves she could roll against the shore in the quickly fading light.

The sound of the water rolling reminder her a lot of Starfall. Granted, Kings Landing was not nearly as warm as Starfall, and Starfall was a river city and not on the sea. Starfall was certainly not as grand as Kings Landing, as to be expected of an almost forgotten place, but it was still beautiful. The people there were kind and women were treated almost as equally as men. Granted, any sort of bold or masculine action from a woman was looked down upon and her mother implored her to be a proper young woman. She was reaching the age where it was becoming questionable that she hadn’t been matched up to some fine young noble. That was not what Ayleth wanted in the least. She did love the company of men, in more ways that what could even be considered proper. But being married would mean that she would not be able the warrior that she was. Being married, she felt, would be like being a flightless bird—doomed to forever wish to do the one thing she lived to do, but would never be able to.

She heard the crunch of shoes on the gravel path and she turned to face the shadow of a person walking toward her. She could tell it was a man from the shape and that they were slender. No armor, so it was no knight, and they were holding a lantern. No one was with them, which piqued Ayleth’s attention. Once they got closer and she studied the light that hit their features, she knew exactly who was approaching her and could wager the reason why they were seeing her. Slowly, she rose to her feet as the man stopped in front of her, placing her hands on her hips.

“Petyr Baelish,” she drawled, raising a brow as she extended a hand to him, “to what do I own this pleasure?” He took her hand delicately and bowed whilst brushing his lips against her knuckles. As he dropped her hand, she immediately placed it back on her waist, regarding him with a careful look.

“Ayleth Dayne,” he started softly and he noticed the woman stiffened at the use of the House name ‘Dayne’, “when I heard such a beauty had been spotted in the Red Keep, I just had to come and see her for myself. The rumors do not do you justice.” The dark-haired woman let out a loud, raspy laugh, though there was no mirth on her features.

“Save yourself the flattery, Baelish,” she commented boldly, taking a step toward him and staring down into his eyes. She was taller than him, but not by much. The man, however, was not intimidated by her. “I have a pretty good idea of who told you I was here, what you are going to ask me, and who sent you to me.” The master of coin merely grinned crookedly, eyes glinting in the pushed back darkness the lantern provided. “Was it my mother or my brother who sent you here? Or was it both? You are here to ask me to join your brothel, are you not?” She asked, her eyes never leaving his. Baelish said naught a word as he merely watched her. Silence lingered between the two of them, anger radiating off of Ayleth in waves. Petyr drew in a deep breath of air, bravely reaching out a hand to push a strand of hair behind the woman’s ear. Oh, if this man knew all the things she wanted to do to the slimy man in front of her, he would not dare touch her for fear of her chopping his hand off in one swift motion and throwing it to the sea.

“Think about it, Ayleth,” he said in a soft voice. She supposed he meant to try and sweet talk her, but she was not a woman easily won over by words, “you’re not even really a Dayne. You’ll never be anything to any of them. The title you'll hold will be so ephemeral, you will never be the Sword of the Morning.” His eyes darted between hers as he watched her expression smooth to one of neutrality. “If you joined me, you'd have both men and women begging me for time with you. You’re the beauty of Starfall they would pay gold to have a bit of your time. You'd have a name amongst the people of Kings Landing. You’d have your-“ He paused, as Ayleth had held her hand up for him to stop, those amethyst eyes of her holding a dangerous sort of venom to them.

“I will not earn a single gold coin for you or your harlots,” she started in a calm voice that was so unlike the look in her eyes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she took another step toward him so that they were nearly nose-to-nose. “How dare you ask me such a thing? I am no whore. I am much more than your common whore. You know what I am capable of,” she continued and she could see Petyr swallow hard, his smug expression sliding off of his face. It took all she had not to grin in triumph. She had somehow reminded him that she was a woman to be feared. He was scared of her, a fact she was proud of. “I may never be knighted. I may never be the Sword of the Morning, but I take comfort in knowing that if I end my days alone, no titles, no children—I’ll still have kept true to myself.” She paused for a moment before stepping around the man, using an extreme amount of restraint to not reel back and punch him in the gut. She took a few steps away from him before turning to face him. “I will become no plaything any man, including you. My father may be dead, but I will always be his daughter and he has always and will always take very good care of me.” 

Ayleth shot him another dark look before turning on heel and walking away, feet smacking angrily against the ground. As she got back on her path toward the tent, figuring she’d lose herself in a few glasses of wine before calling it a night. She heard the soft snap of a twig and spun wildly, hand twitching toward the hem of her dress. There was a dagger hidden in the top of her boot, if only she could get the bottom of her dress up in time. Her eyes studied the inky darkness. There could have been a figure hunched in the bushes, but it could have been just that—shrubbery. She wouldn’t put it past the master of coin to have “hired” help waiting in the darkness to try and grab her, especially if her mother and brother tried to sell her off to a brothel. Maybe she was just being overly paranoid. With a scoff, she pulled her dress up, grasped the handle of the dagger, and twirled it in her fingertips as she let the hem drop back down. 

Once she deemed the coast clear or the bush just a bush and not a man, she let out a soft scoff and shook her head, making her way back to her tent. However, she decided that she wasn’t going to get lost in a few glasses of wine. She needed to keep her wits about her if someone were to try and grab her in the middle of the night. Alastair certainly wouldn’t be any help to prevent her from being stolen. He’d probably help in.

The next day, as Ayleth had dressed into a similar gown as the one she wore the day prior; the thin fabric, the silvery gauntlet-cuffs, hair tied back, and boots. Spare today, she wore a thick metal belt that fell low on her hips, with similar designs as the ones on her gauntlets. Drawing in a deep breath of air, she lifted one of her single-hand, double-edged blades from the bed, eyeing the sword for a moment before strumming her thumb gently over the extremely sharp blade. She grabbed the sheath and slid the blade into it with a musical sort of hiss. The sound of it comforted her greatly. Sliding the sheath into her boot, leaving the hilt of the sword sticking out of the top, she grabbed her other blade and slid it into her boot into a similar fashion. Ayleth stepped over to the mirror and let the hem of her dress fall to it’s full length. She studied herself for a moment and nodded once; the hilts weren’t evident under the skirt of her gown. If someone wanted to try and take her, she was sure going to fight it and leave them with a few wounds.

Today, she was not going to walk with Alastair to the sparring ring or wish him luck. If she wanted to suffer through dirty looks and sour comments, she would go walk through the poorer parts of Kings Landing. Still, it didn’t mean that she wouldn’t be there to support him if need be. Besides, what else would she get up to in the Red Keep or Kings Landing? If she stayed more visible, she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone trying to kidnap her or the like. Perhaps she _was_ being too paranoid, but she could never consider herself too safe, not in a place like Kings Landing.

She found a spot along the sides of the sparring ring, resting her elbows along the railing as she glanced over to the royal box. The Princes and Princess, who were followed by a septa, took their places in the box, too young to full understand what was going on. The Queen and King were next to take their seats, looking as distant as ever, forced smiles on their faces. Ayleth studied them both for a moment, noting just how much the Queen favored one Jaime Lannister. Finally, the festivities started and two knights squared off within the ring. Per usual fashion, the rankings were kept track of on a large board just to the side of the royal box. House Crests were removed and moved around on a board to signify who would move forward and who was out of the tourney. Both Alastair and Jaime did well, as would be expected, and quickly moved ahead in the rankings.

Near the end of the day, the final match of the day, both Alastair and Jaime were to spar against each other. Ayleth stood even closer to the railing, eyeing the two of them closely. Their helmets prevented her from seeing their expressions, but just judging by Alastair’s posture, he was more nervous than ever. Jaime knew he had this fight won before it started, and Ayleth knew he would win, even if Alastair fought his best. The horns blasted and the two of them began to circle each other.

Ayleth kept her eyes glued to them, not wanting to miss a single move of this match. They were both very skilled, that was clear, and Alastair was holding his own. It seemed this would be a lengthy match if one of them didn’t take the upper hand soon. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a gentleman push his way toward the front of the crowd, leaning against the railing as well. Many of the people around him looked perturbed that he pushed them to the side. He wasn’t short or small by any means, nor was he slender, and blocked quite a good portion of their views of the match. However, he paid the two of them no mind and kept his eyes on the two knights sparring.

The woman cut her eyes at him for a moment, something seeming off about his sudden arrival to the tourney ring, before returning her eyes to the sparring. She drew in a deep breath of air as Alastair rammed his shoulder into Jaime’s chest, causing him to take a few stumbling steps back. Alastair did not relent and immediately was charging at Jaime with his greatsword lifted far over his head. It was at this moment she noticed a flurry of movement from the corner of her eye, the man that had pushed his way to the front had vaulted over the fence and had a sword drawn as he stalked toward the two men sparring. In a split second decision, fearing for the life of her brother—even if they were still quite cross with each other—and maybe just a bit for Jaime’s life as well, she gracefully swung her legs over the railing and planted her feet in the soft ground and let out a yell to grab the man’s attention. Her brother and Ser Jaime were sparring with blunt weapons and Ayleth was certain that the man did not have a blunt weapon. Better him come after her than one of them. 

His gaze shot in her direction as she stalked over to him, aware that all eyes had turned to the two of them now. She grabbed the hem of her dress as she walked and pulled hard, ripping it from the bottom to mid thigh, so she’d have space to move. She kept her eyes on the man who’d entered the ring, dressed in black, as she pulled both of her swords from their sheaths with a musical sort of noise. Ayleth had managed to grab his attention fully as she steeled herself. He watched her with a wicked grin as she rolled her wrists, sending her blades spinning in circles, as she warmed up her wrists and arms. 

Ayleth took slow, calculated steps towards the man, noticing that the sparring had stopped and both knights were watching her closely. The Kingsguard has also pushed their way into the sparring ring, but it didn’t look like any of them were going to try and stop them from fighting. Perhaps they thought this was some sort of extra festivity that the King had thought up, or perhaps they were a bit intimidated by the dual-wielding woman. Either way, she focused her thoughts on the man, not knowing what motive he had or who his intended kill was, if he had one. It was a cowardly thing to attack good men who had little means of being able to strike back and she was determined to make him regret his decision.

Suddenly, the man flew at her, raising his sword high. She prepared and lifted both of her blades together as she swung and batted the sword to the side and ramming it into the ground. She side-stepped him and raised her knee, effectively catching him beneath his ribs and winding him. It didn’t stun him for very long as he quickly righted himself and tried to elbow her, she dodged it and took a few steps back. He watched her for a moment, eyes roaming over her as if he were trying to study her. She rolled her wrists again, blades singing through the air once more. She wanted to make quick work of this fight, lest she draw too much attention to herself.

Ayleth drew in a deep breath of air, sizing up the man for a moment before she drew in a deep breath of air. She rolled to the front of her toes before springing at him in a flurry of blades. A surprised look crossed his features before he parried her attacks, but just barely, taking quick steps back to avoid getting hit by either one of her blades. By now, the crowds around them had begun to cheer for them, watching with bated breath to see who would get the first strike in. The woman from Starfall continued to charge at the man, swinging her blades with a furious look on her face. She swung up, down, left, right, diagonally—her movements almost a blur and almost unable to be followed. 

She noticed the man’s other hand reaching toward something on his belt and she faltered for a bit. Before she knew it, he had hurled a dagger at her direction. Gods be damned, she was mid-swing of her blades and there was too much momentum for her to stop and try to block it. The blade sliced her side, just above the top of her hip, and a rush of blood colored the purple fabric and dripped down onto the silvery belt she wore. It was a moderately deep wound, but nothing serious. No internal organs had been nicked and a few stitches would fix her up.

The woman stopped completely, chest heaving as she took a few steps back from the gentleman. The gash on her side stung and ached, but she didn't let it show on her face. The man was giving her a careful look, but once he saw the gash on her side, his mouth curled into a wicked grin. He thought he had won this already with one tiny hit and it infuriated Ayleth. He unsheathed another throwing dagger from his belt, but this time she was ready to block it. With a quick movement, he threw it at her and it whistled through the air. She imagined he had tried to aim for her head or chest and she managed to bat it away with one of her swords. It rolled off of it and whizzed by her neck, nicking the crook of her neck before tumbling to the ground behind her.

She’d had enough and she could feel the blood dripping down the side of her dress and down the top of her thigh, causing the fabric to drag uncomfortably against her blood-slick skin. Either she was going to die by his hand or win, she was through with being a stick-pin to his daggers. In a brief moment, her eyes flickered to the royal booth and noted that the King was standing and watching the two of them with a slightly ajar mouth and a heavily furrowed brow. She looked back at the gentleman before her, catching sight of both the knights in the sparring ring before her eyes swung back to her “sparring” partner.

With a quick movement, she launched at him, digging her toes into the dirt and springing forward. In three strides, she had closed the distance between the two of them and swung her blades at him at the same time. He blocked her with his sword and they locked blades, staring each other down as they fought for dominance. Ayleth grit her teeth, digging her heels into the loose dirt to try and hold her ground. Her arms began to shake with the sheer force that the man was pressing down on both of her blades with. 

The man tried to headbutt her and she quickly leaned back, avoiding it completely. In the moment it took her to regain her bearings, he had hooked a leg behind hers and pulled it forward sharply and managed to knock her off of her feet. She slammed to her back with a soft grunt, hands tightening around the blades in her hands. Her heart was hammering in her chest, pulse rushing in her ears, and cuts stinging with the addition of dirt. At this point, she was furious and she was sure it showed on her features. The man gripped his sword in both hands and swung it down at her. She quickly lifted her blades and caught his sword between both of hers, forming an ‘x’ once more with them. With a soft noise, she tucked both knees to her chest and thrust them forward into the man’s stomach. He stumbled back, gasping and reeling from the force of the hit. 

She leapt to her feet, rolling her wrists and sending the blades swinging through the air once more as she analyzed her next move. The man was still huddled over, unable to catch his breath. She decided then she wasn’t going to kill the man, though she wanted to. With one swift kick, she caught the man under his chin with the top of her foot. Blood squirted out of the corners of his mouth with a hollow snap and sickening sort of high squelch and she figured his tongue had gotten caught between this teeth as she kicked him or she’d broken his jaw. She hoped it was the latter. With one last charge, Ayleth rammed her shoulder into his sternum, making sure she slammed her foot down on his toes in the process. His ankle gave a sharp snap as his full body weight pivoted on the small joint.

With a cry, the man fell onto his back, sword falling out of his hand. Ayleth was quick to kick it away and plant a foot roughly onto his chest, both blades poised and ready to strike if he felt brave enough to move. It was at that moment, the Kingsguard descended upon the man and she knew she had won. Sheathing her swords quickly, she took a few steps back so the knights could do their work and whisk the man out of the sparring ring.

Slowly, like a wave slowly building before crashing to the shore with a loud roar, the crowd broke into cheers for the woman, but she merely looked around, a bit shocked at the reaction she was garnering. Many of them looked surprised that a woman was capable of fighting so well. Though plenty of the men were eyeing the highborn she-warrior that stood in the ring like a prized meat, gazes lingering on her pretty face, the expanse of milky thighs that were exposed by the rip in her gown, or the low cut bodice she wore. She swallowed hard and finally brought her gaze to her brother. He looked a bit gobsmacked for a moment, but it was when she locked eyes with Ser Jaime that his expression fell into something murderous with jealously. As her amethyst eyes locked with Jaime’s, the two exchanged a short of unreadable sort of look, eyes dark with the rush of a fight or…perhaps something else. The two cuts she’d received give a hard throb, as if the adrenaline of a fight was wearing off and she was suddenly aware of the pain she was in. 

“You, there!” She heard a booming voice and froze, turning to find that the King was beckoning her over to the royal booth. She passed between the two knights, keeping her eyes on the King. Ayleth merely held her head high and stopped in front of the royal booth, curtsying low and bowing her head. Her heart was hammering in her chest; but she was unsure if she was still coming down from the rush of the fight or fear of what the King may have to say to her. “Who might you be?” King Robert asked, keeping his eyes on the woman before him.

She righted herself and stared up at him, drawing in a deep breath. “I am Ayleth Dayne of Starfall, your Grace,” she said, raising her voice a bit more so he would be able to hear her over the muffled talk around them.

“A Dayne, kin to Alastair?” He asked, eyes darting to the dark-haired man in the sparring ring before returning to the woman before him.

“I am his sister, your Grace,” she replied with a nod, feeling a bit belittled under the stare of the King. Here she was, of nobility, but not holding any titles, speaking directly to the King at one of his tourneys.

“Under any normal circumstances, I would reprimand someone who dared interrupt my tourney,” he started and Ayleth’s insides froze, “but it seems that the man had the same idea. I will hear what you have to say for yourself.” He kept his eyes unyieldingly on hers, as if trying to suss out for himself if she were to lie to him. Ayleth stared at him for a few moments, feeling more blood from the gash above her hip dripping down the outside of her leg. She swallowed, shifting her weight to her other leg to try and keep her wound from throbbing too hard.

“If it pleases, your Grace, the actions of that man were less that brave or reflective of any sort of honorable fight. Neither men were armed with sharpened blades, so they would only be able to defend themselves, but not retaliate. My brother and Ser Jaime’s lives were at risk as certainly their attentions were wholly devoted to the other. I have no doubts that either of them could defend themselves, but to have either of these knights die because some coward stabbed them in the back at a tourney would be a terrible loss,” she said, meaning every word that came out of her mouth. Even if her brother and her were always at odds, mainly instigated by him, she would not wish him a premature death. “And while I could have easily killed the man, your Grace,” she continued, pausing for a moment to draw in a deep breath of air, “I decided that if I could, I would keep him alive so that you may decide what fate shall befall him. Who am I to judge a man who had the gall to interrupt the King’s tourney?” She tacked on the last part to help fall into better graces with the King, even if it was completely true as well.

The King sat silent for a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly with thought as he studied the woman before him. She kept her eyes on him, her expression not giving away just how tense and nervous she was. Slowly, a wide grin curled the King's lips as he lifted a goblet of wine and took a hefty sip from it. It was then that Ayleth took notice of the Queen beside him, looking ever so much like Ser Jaime, though her expression lacked the genuine warmth that his often had—at least when he looked at her. Right now, she was eyeing Ayleth with a careful look, the forced smile still lingering on her mouth, before turning her green eyes to the King.

“I like your thinking…and you fight damn better than a good lot of my Kingsguard. If you were a man, I’d knight you right here,” the King finally said, nodding toward her before running a hand over his beard. “But for your effort in keeping my tourney a respectable event…and for keeping the man alive for interrogating and punishment as I see fit—though you could have clearly killed him—I offer you a seat at my table at the celebration banquet tonight.” Ayleth beamed up at him, a wide smile curling her lips despite her wounds giving another poignant throb. 

“Thank you, your Grace,” she said, bowing low once more before righting herself. She drew in a deep breath of air, feeling a bit relieved now that she knew the King was not going to throw her in jail or do something rash for her interruption of the tourney.

“I’ll send a Maester to your tents to tend to your wounds,” he said with a nod, dismissing her with a wave of his hand as he shouted to the crowds “Now, lets get this sparring match back underway!”

“Thank you, your Grace,” she repeated, though she knew he would be able to hear her over the roar of excitement that surrounded her. She turned from him and walked back between the two knights. She glanced to her brother and even his sour expression could not dampen her spirits. Her eyes then swung over to Jaime Lannister, who was watching her with a crooked grin. She matched the expression before sending him a quick-as-lightning wink before turning to look at the crowd. They all applauded her as she quickly vaulted over the fencing around the sparring arena and left the way she came. She’d had quite enough of the tourney for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Ayleth/Jaime interaction with this chapter, but I am all about the slow burn. Oh, and the events of this particular short story take place far before Season 1, if that doesn't become evident in this chapter. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

Ayleth walked alone to the banquet hall of the Red Keep, as Alastair wouldn’t even look in her direction after the tourney. He’d lost the match—after it had been restarted thanks to the would-be assassin—and, again, he somehow found a way to pin it back on Ayleth. It was a good thing the woman had such tough skin, or else she’d actually be affected by her brother completely ignoring her. The night was cool, but slightly muggy and she could count the stars in the sky. As calm as she thought she would be heading to a royal banquet in celebration of the tourney, she found herself anxious; it was something she wasn’t accustomed to. No matter the situation, Ayleth kept a cool, keen mind about things. High society worried her more than a sword fight with five able men.

She stepped into the corridor outside of the banquet hall, the sounds of merrymaking audible from outside. Swallowing hard, she paused for a moment, pressing a hand to the wound at her side and steeling herself. They were just humans and the scariest thing in that room would be the potential ridicule and embarrassment she could face. It wasn’t like she lived in Kings Landing, so she would potentially be forgotten by the next time she made the journey from Starfall to the Crownlands.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she turned the corner and stepped into the archway, finding that the royal table sat empty, but many of the knights that had competed in the tourney were already there. It felt like a thousand eyes had turned in her direction, quite like when she unceremoniously hopped into the sparring ring. However, she felt like there were staring for a completely different reason and it made her feel a pinch uncomfortable. She was used to the attention she garnered from men—she knew she wasn’t unfortunate looking—but never had she found nearly a whole room staring at her. However, it wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to look her best.

After the Maester had cleaned and stitched her up, she’d bathed in water that smelled of lavender and orchids, washing herself of the sweat, dirt, and blood she’d stained herself with at the tourney. Unlike many noble women, she had no handmaidens to help her get ready. Once she deemed herself clean, she pulled herself from the bath and dried herself before putting on her gown. Her mother had implored her to bring her nicest gown, as she could find herself in front of royalty at any moment. However, Ayleth had the town smithy and jeweler make something for it that would set her apart and make the gown her own. The gown itself was a rich purple silk overlaid with a gauzy fabric of the same color. It was sleeveless and the bodice hugged tight to her womanly figure, the neckline dipping low to the bottom of her breastbone and the back was completely open to the small of her back. Her mother had approved on that one, but being the rebellious woman that she was, had to make a statement.

  
The smithy had crafted her a beautiful, thin, silver breastplate that also showed off her female form. It cupped her breasts as if it were made to fit only her and had designs, done by the jeweler, of dainty silver filigree that formed shooting stars that complemented her subtle hourglass shape. The back matched the low back of the gown, the front and back held together by silvery ribbons. It fit high up to her neck and curved slightly over her shoulders. The top of it came to a collar that clasped around her neck, the closure hidden by a shooting star and sword, the same on the Dayne crest. A bolt of thin, transparent fabric—the same that overlaid her dress— was attached under the parts of the breastplate that curved over her shoulders. It draped across her back and fell to the floor, making quite a bit of a train. However, the top of the fabric was dyed a deep silver that faded to the same purple as her dress. She had even worn a pair of silver slippers, forgoing the boots that she normally wore.

  
Putting on her own armor came easy to her, so the breastplate gave her no trouble. It was her hair that was giving her a fuss. Finally, she decided to just braid it loosely around the crown of her head. A few springs of her hair were too short to include in the braid, so they fell loose in a soft curl. Finally, she dabbed on a bit of lavender oil onto her neck and swirled a bit of it onto her wrists. She was a woman and proud of that fact, so she may as well present herself as one; especially since she was invited to sit at the royal table. She knew there was a good chance she’d sit at the end of said table, but she knew it was an important privilege to say the least.

  
Ser Jaime had been standing off to the side of the room in conversation with one of the knights, goblet of wine in hand, when Ayleth had come into view. His voice trailed off as he laid eyes on her, mouth falling open for a moment before closing it again and swallowing hard. His eyes raked over her as the only woman present stepped into the room. A few of the men stood as she entered the room, a few of them were staring at her as openly as Jaime was. She was an ephemeral being, appearing to be made of molten, silvery metal, stardust, and amethyst, and had they not been in a room full of people, he believed he would have swept over to her and kissed her full on the mouth. However, they were in a room full of people and all he could do was gawk.  
Her eyes raked the room, searching for a familiar face in the room full of strangers. Amethyst eyes met emerald and she stopped for a moment, a slow grin curling her lips. Deep dimples pitted her cheeks and Jaime returned it. She had her father’s smile, one that was infectious and warm with just a hint of mischief. She offered him a small nod, one that he returned, before a servant walked up to her and caught her attention. Ayleth nodded once and shot one more glance to the blonde victor of the tourney before following behind the servant. Jaime watched her for as long as he could see her, as if she would disappear forever if he didn’t keep her in his sights. However, soon after that, a servant was ushering him out of the room as well and he supposed it was to get a royal entrance announced by his brother-in-law, the King.

  
The entire time they ate, they forced themselves to keep their eyes on their plates, though all they wanted to do was ogle each other. Jamie thought that Ayleth looked radiant in her silver and royal purple and Ayleth would have been lying to herself if she didn’t think Jaime looked attractive in all gold with hints of red peeking out from here or there. They sat at opposite ends of the table, so conversation during the meal was out of the question unless they wanted to yell over the heads of the King and Queen and the others who separated them.

  
Eventually, the room was cleared of the uneaten food and plates and a small group of musicians began to play over in the corner. A few highborn lords, ladies, and maids had been invited to the banquet and they immediately took to dance, pomp and aplomb loosened by the ale and wine that freely flowed. This was, after all, a feast held by Robert Baratheon. Ayleth stood from the royal table, glass goblet in hand and stepped off to the side of the room, watching the couples as they danced with slight amusement. At this point, she was ready to go back to her tent and spend the night in solitude with a bit of Dornish wine or whatever stronger alcohol they had brought with them. However, she knew that it would be looked down upon if she left so soon after the feast. After all, she was invited here by the King.

  
She tilted back her goblet and downed the rest of her wine, licking her lips to clear it of the taste. Her slender yet muscular arms crossed over her chest as she watched the couples moving through their dances, tapping her fingers softly against the glass. Both the King and Queen seemed to be glaring darkly over at her at intermittent periods through he night, but she paid them no mind. She could wager a bet they were glaring at her for the same reasons most people did. The King had probably realized by now that her father had been close with one Rhaegar Targaryen, and had guarded Lyanna Stark from him at the Tower of Joy. The Queen’s dark looks, however, were something that she wasn’t entire sure of. Perhaps it was jealousy, as she garnered a lot of attention that night for her dress and her beauty, or perhaps it out of loyalty to her husband. Or, there was a chance there was something completely different she was sour about. Rumor had it she could be as venomous as a viper with even the sweetest sounding complements.

  
Jaime stood off to the side of the room, goblet of wine in hand as he tugged at the bottom of the gold jerkin that he wore. It was warm in the room, even warmer now that people were up and dancing, and his jerkin covered to his knees. He brushed his hand through his hair, eyes roaming the hall as a few other knights stood around him and spoke amongst themselves. His eyes met Ayleth as she allowed her glass to be refilled by a servant, offering them a kind smile and a bow of her head before they scurried off elsewhere. Sipping the red liquid, her eyes roamed the couples dancing and Jaime was just about to go over and ask for a dance, but Alastair Dayne had already moved in and secured a dance with his sister.

  
The golden knight noticed that she looked a little less than pleased, but set aside her goblet and joined her brother in the middle of all the dancing couples. She fell into the steps easily, her brother mirroring them with a bit less finesse. Jaime took a sip of his wine, letting his eyes roam the room once more. As his eyes raked over the royal table, he noticed that the King and Queen were shooting dark stares at the Dayne siblings and Jaime realized exactly why they were the only two requested to stay out in the gardens instead of the Red Keep. He followed the royal gaze to the Dayne siblings once more, noticing that they were both talking hurriedly and quietly with each other. Their expressions were hard, eyes boring restlessly into each others.  
It was clear they were butting heads, but they were doing it in the most discreet way, trying not to cause a scene. Finally, Ayleth’s eyes shot over her brother’s shoulder, locking onto something or someone as she twisted through the dance. Jaime followed her gaze and his jaw clenched when he saw that she had been looking at Littlefinger, who was eyeing her like a prized piece of meat at a butcher shop. His eyes then swooped back over to the siblings, who were staring at each other again. Ayleth was looking more and more furious by the second. Finally, her brother said something that had her stopping completely. She snapped something in return, flourishing a few vulgar Dornish hand gestures in his direction, before turning on heel and walking away. Snatching up her goblet of wine, she left the room in a swish of gossamer silver and purple fabrics.

  
Jaime weighed his options for a moment before downing the rest of his wine and making his way out of the room without someone stopping him for a chat. For that he was thankful for, since he wanted to catch up with Ayleth before she disappeared for the night. As he entered the long corridor along the side of the banquet hall, he saw her disappear out the door. He quickened his pace a bit to keep her in his sights, trying to keep as quiet as possible so she didn’t figure out she was being followed. He quickly exited the building, setting his goblet down outside of the archway before continuing out into the gardens.

  
He could hear her quick steps along the gravel pathway, the tattoo of them against the rocks rapid, angry, and rhythmic. Jaime grinned to himself as he watched her tip back an entire goblet of wine, downing it in one go before tossing the goblet into the plants with a hard throw. It crashed to the ground somewhere as she walked, not missing a beat in her step to drain her cup. He kept up with her pace easily, though her long strides could easily take her far away quickly. She turned a corner sharply and Jaime realized that she was not going back to her tents but to a small offshoot of the gardens that looked over Blackwater Bay.

  
Once she got to where she was going, she stopped at the edge of the small cliffside, forgoing sitting down for the moment. She kept her eyes to the white-capped bay that was angry with the sharp winds that blew off of the sea. The fabric cape that she wore fluttered in the strong breeze and she pressed a hand to her side, the cut above her hip throbbing from her quick exit and her angry pulse rushing in her ears. She couldn’t feel the pressure she was putting on it, but it calmed her a bit to try and focus the pain away. Closing her eyes, she drew in slow, deep breaths of clear sea air, exhaling just as slowly and trying to calm herself down.

  
Jaime stood off to the side and watched the woman closely in the moonlight the half-moon provided. The sky was clear and the stars were visible, everything bathed in white-blue light. From her profile, he could see her brow was furrowed, mouth was set in a thin line, and her shoulders were rising and falling steadily. Licking his lips, he took a few, slow steps forward, boots crunching on the gravel.

  
“Lady Ayleth,” he said softly and the woman jumped, eyes flying open as she took a step back and eyed him carefully. She watched him with a cautious look, body tense, and hand twitching at her side. Jaime knew the motion well; it was a habit those who were skilled with a blade had and were deciding whether to draw a blade or not. He merely stared at her, backlit by the moon, as her form slowly relaxed and she blew out a sharp breath of air.

  
“I’m no Lady, Ser Jaime,” she said softly, her voice low and full of an emotion Jaime had a hard time placing. She turned and sat on a stone bench, her eyes, dark with the night, overlooking the sea that crashed into the cliffside beneath them. In a bold move, one that would be seen as improper to prying eyes, he stepped over to the bench and sat beside her, keeping a sliver of negative space between the two of them as to make her feel like she had a bit of room to move.

  
“If I may,” Jaime started, watching the woman beside him carefully. She turned her eyes to him, piercing into his like a blade, and it caused him to pause for a moment. “I was watching you and your brother,” he continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as they roamed his features.

  
“And you’re probably wondering why I left a banquet in which I was invited to dine at the King’s table?” She questioned, raising a brow as she drew in a deep breath of air and let it out. She was sitting ramrod straight due to the metal breastplate she wore and she was eye-to-eye with Jaime.

  
“What does Littlefinger have to do with it,” Jaime asked, wanting to cut corners and get straight to what was going on. She let out a sharp exhale through her nose, eyes leaving his to stare out at the sea once more. Her full lips pursed for moment, jaw clenching beneath thin, pale skin.

  
“My mother and brother are trying to get me to join his brothel,” she spat, upper lip curling slightly as she spoke. Jaime had concluded earlier that Littlefinger and his brothel had been involved, but he wasn’t certain if her brother had been involved with it too. “So forgive me if I’m not currently in the best of moods,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment and pinching the bridge of her nose. She was torn between tossing herself out into the sea or running back into the banquet hall and punching her brother in the face. Jaime frowned as he watched her, knowing her father would be livid if he heard of anyone being treated the way that she was, let alone his own daughter.

  
“It’s completely understandable,” he said softly, causing her to pull open her eyes, drop her hand, and look over at him. Her brow furrowed for a moment, eyes set on his before she glanced behind him, as if she were making sure there wasn’t anyone else around the two of them. She stood and cleared her throat, clasping her hands in front of her as Jaime followed her and stood.  
“Would you mind escorting me back to my tent, Ser Jaime,” she asked, her eyes boring into his. “I’m not exactly in a mood to be alone with my thoughts, if I am honest with you.” Jaime watched Ayleth for moment before smiling widely and taking one of her hands in his. He swept into a low bow, brushing his lips across her knuckles before righting himself and releasing her hand. He noted that her hands were softer than he expected to be, just a trace of callouses on the pads of her fingers.

  
“I would be honored,” he said, managing to pull a small smile from Ayleth as he offered her his arm. She wound her arm through his and they began to take slow steps back to her tent. They walked in silence, the wind whipping around them. Over the smell of the plants, the breeze blew the slight smell of lavender and orchid over Jaime and he glanced over to Ayleth, figuring the soft, calming smell was coming from her. His arm was held tightly against her side and she could feel the tightly threaded muscles of his forearm through the fabric of his jerkin against her own.

  
Once they reached her tent, Jaime tried to pull his arm from hers and she merely gripped it tighter against her side. He shot her a look and found her staring up at him, shaking her head a bit before leading him into the tent. As soon as the fabric barrier fell behind them, she let go of his arm and turned, tying the closure shut so they wouldn’t have anyone just traipsing in. Jaime watched her, letting his eyes roam over her as her fingers nimbly tied the last closure. He turned just as she went to look at him, eyes roaming over the insides of her tent. The whole tent was lit by a few candelabras, the dim light remarkably illuminating quite a lot of the tent. On one side was a large camp bed, swathed in silken sheets of gunmetal grey that were twisted in bunches around the bed, clearly unmade. On the other side of the tent there was a small table with an assortment of fruits, cheeses, and dried meats with two large, high-backed mahogany chairs perched on one side of it. There were also a few decanters of a light amber colored liquid and empty goblets just beside them. There were a few trunks in the room, a floor length mirror, and an empty bath. One of the trunks were propped open and was filled to the brim with blunt, sparring weapons. The floor was covered in an assortment of rugs, blocking out the grass and dirt beneath it.

  
When he finally brought his eyes back to her, she was watching him, apprehension wrought on her features. She drew in a slow breath of air, trying to peer a little harder into those dark green eyes of his and read him. After a few moments, she swept past him, leaving him with a rush of lavender-tinged air and the feel of the gossamer fabric slipping against his arm and hand, and went over to the table. She poured the both of them a hefty amount of the amber-liquid into two of the glass goblets and walked back over to him, stopping in front of him and extending one to him as she sipped one.

  
He took it and glanced at it apprehensively, only lifting his eyes from it when he heard a soft laugh from the woman in front of him. “It’s a Dayne honey wine, Ser Jaime,” she said softly, a wry grin curling her lips. “I have to warn you though. It’s as sweet as Dornish wine, but it’ll have you off your feet if you’re not careful,” she added, eyes twinkling with short-lived mirth as she watched him take a sip. He licked his lips clean of the liquid, missing the wolfish gleam in her eyes as her eyes darted momentarily to his mouth as his eyes were glued to the liquid in his cup. He nodded a few times and when he went to look back at Ayleth, she had turned and was arranging the chairs so that they faced each other. She took a seat in one, leisurely sipping at the honey-wine as she settled back against the chair.

  
“Please, take a seat and help yourself to a bit of food, if you’d like,” she said, kicking off her slippers and sliding them under her chair. Jaime noted just how dainty and pale her feet looked, peeking out from under the hem of her long gown. He did as he was told, stepping over to the chair opposite of her, the sound of his feet muffled against the carpet beneath them, before lowering himself down into the chair with a soft sigh. Her eyes followed him as he moved, drifting slowly over him before she placed her goblet onto the table beside them and rested her elbows on the arms of the chair.

  
“My mother and brother, as you probably already surmised, are not actually that. They’re my aunt and cousin,” she started out of the blue. Jaime’s eyes flickered to hers. “My father wasn’t around much when I was little, so when I was actually legitimized, they took me into their home and raised me. My father would visit when he could, but you know, better than anyone else, the life of a knight in the Kingsguard. They’ve always…resented me a bit, my father’s brother, my aunt, and cousin. I suppose it was because my birth mother wanted nothing to do with me and I’ve been seen as a burden to them. Such is not the normal for a bastard child in Dorne, but I think something about me put a bitter taste in their mouths.” She paused for a moment and took a long sip of her drink, Jaime’s eyes never leaving her. “I was ten when my father died…along with any niceties they provided me.”

  
“You seem to be doing all right now,” Jaime interjected, glancing pointedly around the tent. Ayleth let out a sharp breath of air through her nose, shaking her head slowly. Her eyes closed for a moment and her lips pursed slightly, like she was suppressing anger or sadness, Jaime wasn’t sure. She eventually opened her eyes back up and she looked at Jaime for a moment.

  
“I only get treated well now because they now I’m the best person to teach Alastair, but he will never be as I am, never feel at ease with a blade in his hand. But even now, I guess their so-called charity has run out. They can’t marry me off, I’m getting older by the minute, and I can’t become a knight or serve in any sort of guard, so any options for getting rid of me go out the window…spare trying to get me to work for some rat of a man in his brothel,” she said, the last few sentences bitter and dark as her jaw set and lips trembled with anger.  
“Ser Arthur would be furious,” Jaime broached softly, eyes locked on hers.

  
“Don’t I know it,” she returned, eyes locked on his. She cleared her throat and grasped at the goblet beside her, tipping it back to her awaiting mouth. She swallowed the liquid and continued. “I suppose Littlefinger made some sort of deal with my mother or brother…or both…to have a bit of the money I make sent to them. As if I would if I ever stoop so low as to work in a place like that.” Her face wrinkled for a moment at the thought and she shook her head slowly. “No, I’d probably end up cutting the cock off of every man that decided to buy me, shove it in his mouth, and sew his lips shut around it.” She shot a glance over to Jaime, who wore a slight wince on his features.

  
“Sorry,” she said in a much softer voice, “I’m just…angry.” She stared at him for a few moments longer before looking away hurriedly.

  
“No harm done,” he commented softly, “you have every right to be angry.” Normally, Jaime wouldn’t care so much for the problems of others, but somehow hearing such troubles coming from the daughter of Ser Arthur Dayne made it much different. She went quiet for the longest time, violet eyes watching the flickering flame of one of the candles on the silvery candelabra on the table in front of them. Jaime kept his eyes on her profile, watching her for a few quiet moments as the wind whipped against the tent. He drew in a deep breath of air, shifting slightly in his chair before tipping his goblet back and taking a sip of the honey-wine.

  
“I’ve yet to thank you for defending both Ser Alastair and myself today,” he drawled, swirling the liquid around in his glass before his eyes lifted to meet hers. The King had told him that the would-be assassin had confessed as to why he had jumped into the tourney ring; he was a Targaryen supporter and had, like Jaime had initially thought, tried to off him in the middle of a tourney for slaying the Mad King. He debated on telling Ayleth, but he wasn’t sure how she would take the news. She was watching him with a small grin on her features before she shook her head.

  
“Honestly, despite being slightly injured, I’m glad I got the chance to fight today. I just hate that it was with that man and that he was trying to kill either one of you or both of you knowing you were with blunted weapons,” she said, a wry grin curling her lips. Her expression grew serious once more before she continued. “There’s something very cowardly about it. I doubt either of you have done anything to him personally to make him want to end either of you…not that I think he could, even with your blunted weapons.” Jaime merely watched her, his expression growing a bit solemn at her words. He knew there were definitely reasons to try and off him. He was a Lannister, for one, and he’d killed the Mad King when he was sworn to protect him. Ayleth watched him for a moment, brow furrowing for a moment.

  
“The man was trying to come after me, for reasons I’m sure you are well aware of,” Jaime told her through a tight jaw before swallowing, eyes glancing down to the wine in his glass before tipping it back and downing the entire glass. When he brought his eyes back to Ayleth, she was watching him with an unreadable sort of expression.

  
“I do not know how much weight my words hold with you, Ser Jaime,” she started softly, “but believe me when I say that I wholeheartedly agree with your decision that day. Not just because I know what my father said of that man, but because when you swear an oath to protect the king, you also swear it to the king’s people as well.” Jaime’s brow was furrowed low over his eyes, emerald eyes hidden by shadows as he stared over at her. He shook his head as she finished.

  
“I don’t want to hear any more,” he said bitterly, shaking his head as he looked away, not liking the turn this conversation had taken.

  
“No,” she said sternly, to which he turned his eyes darkly back over to her as she stood and took a few steps over to him. His face crumpled angrily and he shook his head, not understanding why the woman would continue. Though, there was something in her tone of voice that reminded him so much of her father and he knew he should listen to what she had to say. “What I’m about to tell you is something I think my father would have wanted you to hear.” She reached down and took both of his hands in hers, grasping them warmly in her strong fingers. Her eyes glanced down to his hands for a moment before she lifted them to his once more.

  
“You do not have to reply. You do not have to tell me exactly what went on that day, but I have a feeling that my father would have felt and did feel the same way I do. The Mad King must have been doing or planning something that was going to harm a lot of people. That would be the only reason I see a knight of your esteem would kill his King,” she said, her voice soft, yet stern. Jaime gave her hands a small squeeze as his eyes darted between hers, seeing the raw emotion that her eyes held. “If that is indeed the case, Ser Jaime, then you should pay no heed the to nickname you have been given, for you and I know the truth of what you did that day and how many people you saved by your actions: actions of a true knight.” Her thumbs were brushing soothing paths back and forth across his knuckles, a small smile curling her lips.

  
Jaime did not know what to say in response to her words, which had touched something deep within him. For so long, the nickname he’d been given had weighed heavily on his soul, made him think he was undeserving of being a knight. But, here she was, the daughter of the knight who had been every bit of a mentor and friend to him, speaking words that had made him feel that maybe he was a little less of a despicable being that he thought. Slowly, he brought himself to his feet, keeping his eyes locked with hers. In such close proximity, he saw that around the pupil of her vibrant amethyst-colored eyes was a sunburst of bright blue—the color of her father’s eyes, and he found the facets of them calling to him; that silent siren song, coupled with the soft scent of lavender and orchids, was inexplicably drawing him in once more.

  
Without a word, he gently unfurled one of her hands from his and placed his hand on the back of her neck, at the base of her skull as he let his thumb brush against her jaw. His eyes swooped to her lips, which were parted slightly and drawing in slow breaths of air. As he leaned forward slowly, his eyes flickered back up to hers, which had widened slightly with surprise before fluttering shut just before his lips pressed against hers. Her breath caught in her throat, despite herself, before she relaxed into the kiss. Her lips were smooth and soft against Jaime’s slightly chapped ones as they brushed against each other. Her free hand smoothed up his chest before resting softly against his pectoral, fingertips gently gripping the fabric of his dark gold jerkin. He dropped her other hand and smoothed his hand to the small of her back, pressing against the warm metal back piece of her breastplate and pushing her form snug against his. She yielded immediately, arching as much as she could against him as she lifted her other hand to tangle gently in his golden hair.

  
They stood there in the silence of their tent, not a silver of space between the two of them. Her silver and purple and his gold and red, her stars and sword and his lion, her black hair and his blonde, her vivid purple eyes to his earthen emerald, her pale skin and his lightly tan complexion; they were two complete opposites and there was something about that which was thrilling for the both of them. Feeling a bit brave, she nipped gently at his bottom lip, pulling a low grumble of a noise from deep within his chest. He pulled her a bit tighter against him, tongue slipping past her lips and into her mouth. She returned the motion, slipping her tongue against his with a soft noise and her hand tightened slightly in his hair. The continued these motions for a few more moments, electricity and heat rising slowly between the two of them.

  
In a flash, she pulled back and looked up at him, lips swollen and chest heaving slightly as she looked up at him slightly with darkened eyes. She licked her lips as she leaned forward slightly, as if she meant to reconnect their lips. Jaime prepared himself for a moment but she stopped just shy, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She pulled her plump bottom teeth between her lips for a moment and Jaime wanted nothing more to take her bottom lip between his own teeth.

  
“Ser Jaime, if I’m not mistaken,” she started in a soft rasp of a voice, eyes still dark with an emotion that Jaime could easily read, “I saved your life today. You now owe me a debt.” Jaime suddenly grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her form even closer to his. He thought he had an idea of where she was going with this and he would have been more than happy to oblige her. But, he knew she could always surprise him with something else.

  
“And a Lannister always pays his debts,” he said softly, eyes roaming over her features as she leaned back slightly in his grasp to look over his features.

  
“Spar with me, that’s all I ask,” she said, eyes lighting up at the prospect as she locked eyes with his. Pleasant surprise flashed across his features and a crooked grin curled his lips. She reluctantly took a step back from him, eyes wandering his form as more of him came into view with each step she took backwards.

  
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, biting his bottom lip as she turned and leaned over the trunk of sparring weapons, “but I must warn you, I won’t go easy on you.” Jaime took the time to let his eyes wander over her backside as the silken fabric of her dress stretched teasingly over her curves.

  
“I’d be insulted it you did,” she retorted quickly with a soft rasp of a laugh as she righted herself, grasping three swords in her hands, earning a laugh from him as well. She stepped over to him, offering him a single-handed sword. He took it from her, making sure to brush his fingertips against her skin, she locked eyes with him, bottom lip tugging between her teeth once more. She took a few steps back from him, readying her dual blades in each hand. Thankfully for both of them, there was ample room in Ayleth’s tent for them to spar without destroying things or tripping over things or each other.

  
She put a couple paces between the two of them, rolling her wrists and sending the blades swooping through the air as she turned to face Jaime. He was testing the weight of the blade for a moment before lifting his eyes to her as he grasped the blade in his sword hand and took his stance. Ayleth mimicked his movements, eyes flickering over him slowly before a grin curled her face.

  
“If I win, you get to be my squire for the rest of the evening,” she quipped, eyes lighting up as she watched Jaime raise a brow and look over her for a moment. He let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

  
“Fair enough,” he replied, “and if I win, we get to pick up where we left off.” Ayleth merely grinned back to him in return and nodded once.

  
“Fair enough,” she conceded. She paused for a moment before she lunged at him and he was more than prepared for the flurry of blades that descended upon him. He was quick to parry her attacks, taking a few steps back as she swung mercilessly as him. It was surprising how hard and fast the woman swung the blades, and he could see now how she’d disarmed Alastair the first time he saw them fight.

  
“You fight like your father,” Jaime noted with a grin as she relented her quick assault of blades and took a few steps back, twirling her blades in her hands. She merely grinned proudly, eyes locked on his.

  
“I better. He’s the one who taught me,” she said, watching as Jaime lunged at her, swinging his blade at her. She was quick to parry, taking a few steps back as she easily batted his swings away with her duel blades. They were both at ease with sparring, grins curling their features and mirth in their eyes. It was clear that either of them were never more alive that when they had a sword in their hands. Jaime finally retreated his advance and stood there at a distance, studying the woman before him.

  
They fought for a few long minutes and it was clear to them that both of them were equally as talented as the other. It was refreshing for Jaime to find someone who challenged him. However, it seemed their sparring match had met a little bit of a stalemate. It seemed for every strike they intended to hit their target with was parried or dodged and every parry was immediately met with another deluge of swings. It was then they both realized they were equals in their fighting.

  
Ayleth took a few paces back swinging her blades in circles at her sides as she remained light on her feet. Their chests were heaving and the tent was feeling unreasonably warm, but neither of them were going to call a truce or backdown anytime soon. They were having far too much fun, but neither of them wanted to nurse a bruised ego from a loss.

  
“If I hadn’t had so much to drink beforehand, I’d probably have you on your back by now,” she said with a crooked, wolfish grin. Jaime merely let out a short laugh and shook his head, watching the woman in front of him closely.

  
“Feel free to have me on my back at any point of this evening after I beat you,” Jaime replied cockily and Ayleth let out a loud laugh.

  
“As if I’d let you beat me,” she retorted confidently, grinning over at him before she lunged at him once more, swing both blades of hers ruthlessly as she closed the distance between the two of them once more. Jaime grinned as he formulated a plan to beat her. Instead of stepping back, he stepped forward and locked his leg between both of hers. Her brow furrowed for a moment but when she realized what he was doing, it was too late to try and back away. She spun around to avoid him tripping her as his left arm wrapped around her midsection and pulled her back against his front, sparring blade coming to rest beneath her jaw. Before he managed to pin down her right arm with his and keep her left arm pinned snuggly to her side with his left, her blade gently met the side of his neck before they both stilled. The only sound that filled the tent was the sound of their heaving breaths, bodies warmed with their sparring and pressed flush against each other. The took a few moments to study each other and catch their breath.

  
“Are you really going to let a lion pin you like this? I expected better,” Jaime taunted in her ear as she craned her neck to look up at him. She wore a cheeky little grin as her eyes darted between both of his.

  
“A shooting star and sword are not concerned with the actions of a lion,” she retorted smartly. Jaime raised a brow, letting out a short laugh and letting his breath wash over her face. They were so close, if he just tossed down his sword, he would be able to have his way with her. But he was a proud man and that would mean he conceded to her. He certainly couldn’t have that, no matter how much he desired the woman pressed flush against him.

  
“And a lion does not bow to shooting stars and swords,” he finished in a low voice, pulling her closer to him with a soft hum. His eyes traced over her features, enjoying the way her strong, yet supple body melded to his. “I do believe I won, Ayleth,” he murmured with a dazzling grin. It was Ayleth’s turn to raise a brow as she let out a soft, twinkling laugh, resisting the strong temptation to just press her lips to his and be done with it. She was a proud woman, a tricky woman, and she would not bow out no matter how infatuated she was with him.

  
“You would think that, wouldn’t you, Ser Jaime?” She mused softly, arching her back just right that had her backside brushing against his front. He inhaled a low hiss of air through his teeth as she did this, eyes darkening as he stared down at the woman he had pressed so temptingly against him. She could feel him and his desire through the layers of clothing they wore and her pupils dilated wide, air crackling with nigh unbearable tension. “But I do believe you’re forgetting one important detail,” she said, voice trembling softly as his blunt blade slowly slid back and forth across the soft skin under her jaw.

  
“And what is that?” He murmured in a low, rough voice. It was then that he felt a strong pressure against the inside of his upper thigh and he stilled suddenly, eyes widening with fear. It was a sort lived fear, as he realized that Ayleth had not gone for his manhood, but for an artery on his inner thigh; one that if nicked with a real blade would have him bleeding out in a few quick minutes.

  
“Ah, I see you’ve figured out where my other sword went,” she said in a soft, playful voice before she licked her lips. Realization dawned on Jaime’s face, loosening his grip on her ever so slightly. Despite the fact he knew she wouldn’t intentionally damage any important parts of him, having a sword so close to one’s nether regions was not a very comfortable feeling. “So, with all sincerest apologies to your ego and reputation, Ser Jaime, I do believe that makes me the victor,” she finished with a smug little smile. In all honesty, her confidence in fighting and her victory over him made her all the more attractive in his eyes, but he wouldn’t be outright telling her that. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh and let go of her completely, reluctantly. She, reluctantly, took a few steps away from him and turned to face him completely.

  
“Forgive me if my skills as a squire are a little rusty. I wasn’t one for very long,” he said, offering her a cocky little grin, “but, it does appear that you have bested me, Ayleth. It’s been a very long time since I’ve found someone who could manage such a feat.” He hung his head low for a moment in false defeat and Ayleth merely shook her head, placing both of her swords in one hand and resting the tips of them against the ground.

  
“I’m sure you’ll be a suitable enough squire for me, Jaime, and word of such a defeat will not leave this tent,” she said, playfully dropping the use of ‘Ser’ for the moment. His eyes shot up to hers and a wide, easy grin curled his lips and she found that the man before her quite resembled a lion. Right now, she couldn’t deny that he looked like one that was grinning right before pouncing on prey. “I’ve never had a squire, so I have no idea what they are like. Now, please, put our sparring swords away, would you, squire?” She asked politely. He stared at her for the longest time, but wore that same grin, as if he were considering listening to her or not.

  
Eventually, he stepped toward her and took both of her blades, making sure his fingertips lingered against her skin before pulling the hilts from her hand. He lightly brushed past her and she turned, following him with her eyes as he leaned over the trunk and placed the sparring weapons within. Her head tilted to the side as she watched him, raising a brow and biting her bottom lip. When he turned back to her, she smoothed her expression out to one of neutrality, thought desire lingered in the deep purple facets of her eyes.

  
“Anything else I can do for you, m’lady?” He questioned, feeling quite odd requesting to be ordered around like a squire or servant. Though, for a beautiful, desirable woman like Ayleth, he was sure he’d do just about anything she’d asked of him at the moment. A smirked tugged at the corner of her mouth for a moment before her expression fell back to one of indifference once more.

  
“Grab my real sword from the table, please,” she commanded softly, nodding her head to the exact spot it lay amongst the food and wine. The area around it was clear, making it stand out starkly, and Jaime was wondering how he missed it in the first place.

  
“As you wish,” he responded softly, letting his feet carry him slowly over to the table. He paused for a moment, studying the scabbard closely. He recognized this blade, he knew who the previous owner of such a blade was. “This is…” He started and Ayleth merely cleared her throat, feigning an impatient knight for the sake of character.

  
“My sword, please,” she repeated softly and he lifted the blade from the table and walked it over to her. He offered it to her, brow furrowed slightly as he kept his eyes on her. She took the scabbard from him. Her eyes wandered over the scabbard before her right hand gripped around the grip of the blade and pulled it from the sheath with a high singing noise that metal made when it slipped from the protective casing around it. The sword was made of steel, certainly, but it was veined with a iridescent sort of metal that glimmered and gleamed in the candlelight. It was like there was a light within the blade, begging to be unleashed.

  
“Dawn,” Jaime said softly and Ayleth’s eyes slowly moved from the blade to Jaime before sheathing the sword once more.

  
“Thus, the plot thickens,” she murmured with a nod, “yet another reason why Alastair despises me so.” She handed the sword back to Jaime, who weighted it in his hands. “Rightfully, Dawn belongs to the Sword of the Morning,” she started, “but my father left it for me and no one has dared tried to take it from me.”

  
“I can’t imagine why,” Jaime joked wryly and Ayleth let out a soft laugh that had both of them grinning broadly.

  
“He also…left me with one other thing. Something that was to be unspoken to all except for me. He knew that Alastair would never be the protector or fighter that I am,” she continued, a crooked grin curling her lips as Jaime set the blade off to the side once more. “He told me to act as a Sword of the Morning should, to take my vows of knighthood when I felt the time was right, if that is what I wanted. And I have done just that,” she said with a small shrug of her shoulders. “That is why they cannot marry me off. Regardless of them acknowledging my vows of unsaid knighthood or not, I refuse to be married off like a mare to be bred and no one has the gull to try and convince me otherwise.” She drew in a deep breath of air, looking up at Jaime. “I trust you not to tell anyone, squire, that I see myself as the true Sword of the Morning, even if I will never be seen as nothing more than a woman with two blades by anyone else.” Jaime’s mouth curled into a slight grin at the use of the name ‘squire’ for him before it fell.

  
To Jaime, it was a damn shame the skilled woman before him would never been seen as a knight. He knew that should could easily replace at least ten knights in the Kingsguard and they would not miss a single one of them. She was merely born the wrong gender and he saw it a great crime the Gods must’ve have played to have such skill be placed into the wrong body. However, Jaime saw nothing wrong with a woman who knew how to wield blades like she did. In fact, it was one of the things he found most attractive about her, even more so than her beauty, which she had plenty of.

  
“You’re secret is safe with me, m’lady,” was all he thought to reply with, a rare, genuine smile curling his lips as he kept his eyes on her. Silence lingered between the two of them once more as they merely watched each other, wind whipping against the outside of the tent once more.

  
Ayleth finally drew in a deep breath of air and cleared her throat. “Now, squire,” she said, putting on her best commanding voice that she could, though Jaime could see her eyes darken once more, “I do believe I may need some help getting out of my armor.”

  
“Now that is something I will gladly help with, m’lady,” he replied with a smirk as he stepped over to her. He stopped just beside her, looking over her profile as she glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. His fingertips played with the ribbons that laced together the back and front of her breastplate, taking in the woman before him. Slowly, he leaned forward, nuzzling his nose against her neck and breathing in the calming, floral scent she radiated as she let out a soft sigh. Jaime’s fingertips slowly plucked at the ribbons until he loosened the knot, noting the collar around her neck would have to come off first. He playfully nipped at the skin under her jaw, fingertips slipping up the well formed breastplate, circling over one of her breasts before slipping up to the collar. By now, Ayleth’s breath had picked up, eyes hazed over with lust as she watched Jaime closely.

  
His fingers nimbly popped open the collar as he took his earlobe between his teeth before sucking gently on it. A soft noise escaped her, knees nearly giving out but she steeled herself. She couldn’t have him thinking he was affecting her this much already. She felt his fingertips loosening the ribbons on one side and soon the breastplate loosened completely and slipped down a bit. Jaime caught it with quick fingertips, slowly and carefully removing it from her body and setting it down to the side with extra care. He drew in a slow breath of air as his eyes roamed her form, lingering on the exposed neckline of the dress and the milky skin between her breasts it exposed.

  
The cool air felt refreshing on her skin as she stared up at him, hands relaxed at her sides. His eyes lingered on the thin, stitched laceration at the crook of her neck, making note to be careful of her injuries. He’d hate to reopen any wounds, especially the angry one at her hip. His hands smoothed over her hips, gently easing her toward him as one of his hands pressed against the small of her back. Her body was pressed flush against his once more and she leaned back slightly in his arms, eyes roaming over his features as she licked her lips. Her hands smoothed up his chest before her fingertips toyed with the ties on his jerkin. She looked up at him through her eyelashes as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth once more.

  
Slowly, her fingers pulled at the ties, starting from the top and working her way to the bottom. The front of his jerkin loosened and she pulled it open, eyes lowering from his to look over him in his undershirt. Her fingertips skirted up the red fabric, before slipping his jerkin off of his shoulders and he allowed it to slip from his arms and to the floor. A soft hum left her as she eyed him for a moment before lifting her eyes back up to his. His fingers toyed with the lace-up on the back of her dress, thumb brushing against the skin at the top of the back of her dress. She shuddered a bit at the feeling, pressing a bit closer to him.

  
A soft noise left him as she lifted her leg slightly, running her knee up and down the inside of his thigh. He leaned forward and captured her lips in a heated kiss, her mouth immediately reacting and moving with his as her thin, yet muscular arms slipped around his neck and pulled him closer to her, pressing her chest flush against his. Jaime sighed into the kiss, wrapping both arms around her waist and pulling her hips flush against his. He took her bottom lip between his teeth gently, letting it slip slowly back out and he felt her shudder against him once more. Heat rushed over the both of them and they knew the time for taking it slow was over and they ached to feel bare skin pressed against bare skin. His fingers undid the lace at the back of her dress in one go, immediately loosening it as her tongue slipped into his mouth with a soft noise.

  
He slipped his hands up her back to the tops of her shoulders, slipping the dress from them and letting the fabric slide down her arms with a soft hush. She let her arms drop from around his neck, shimmying the dress down her body until the rich fabric was left a wrinkled pile on the floor. Ayleth stepped away from the dress, skin bared to Jaime and the warmth of the inside of her tent without removing her lips from his. She was quick to press her naked body flush against his once more, eliciting a wanton sort of noise from deep within his chest as his hands slipped from the small over her back. Jaime’s hands gently skirted over her backside, relishing the firm, yet supple flesh there before grasping each cheek firmly. A soft gasp escaped Ayleth against the kiss, causing goosebumps to rise on the back of Jaime’s neck. He felt her fingers slide down his chest to the laces up the front of his breeches. She cupped him momentarily through the thin fabric, heat flashing through him as he pulled away from their kiss completely to let out a low moan. He cracked open his eyes to find her looking up at him with a crooked grin on her lips as he pressed his hips forward to press his bulge against her palm.

  
In a flash, she had the laces undone and was pushing down his breeches and small clothes down together, her fingertips sliding teasingly against the skin at his hips. A short laugh left her as she backed away suddenly, her amethyst eyes slowly wandering over what she could see of him as he stepped out of his boots and shoved his breeches down completely. His undershirt was the next, and last, article of clothing to go between the two of them, and soon it joined their mess of clothing on the floor; a crumple of crimson in a flood of gold, purple, silver, and brown. They took a moment to pause, mouths red and plump, cheeks flushed with heat, lust darkened eyes wandering each others forms brazenly. Jaime’s earthy green eyes landed on the bruised strip of red on her hip and he took a small step forward, making to close the space between the two of them.

  
His fingers went to her hair, pulling it from the simple crown of a single braid and letting it fall, wavy and wild to it’s full length at her chin. She drew in a deep breath of air, watching him through half-shut violet eyes. Ayleth found herself unable to keep her hands from him, palms smoothing over his hips. He reached out with his right hand, letting his fingertips slowly trail across her clavicles before diving down the length over her breastbone. He leaned forward, gently nudging her head to the side before letting the tip of his nose trail along her jaw. Jaime pressed soft kisses down the side of her neck, fingertips sliding under one of her breasts as he pressed a featherlight kiss along the cut at the crook of her neck.

  
Jaime could feel her swallow hard, hear her breath in his ear, quick and ragged, and could feel her nipples brushing gently against his chest. His fingertips continued their path southward, skirting over her flat, toned stomach before sliding over the crest of her uninjured hip. A low hum left her, her head falling forward and her teeth gently nipping at the crook of his neck. He drew in a sharp breath of air, eyes slipping shut at the feel of her lips soothing over the previously bitten areas. She pulled away slightly, licking her lips as she caught her breath for a moment. Ayleth left a trail of kisses along his neck, leading to his ear, where she took his earlobe between her teeth and nibbled gently on it. A breathless sort of noise left him and she took a step forward, pressing her naked body flush against his. She pulled away and murmured in a low, raspy voice, “Get on the bed.”

  
A shiver worked it’s way down Jaime’s spine at the low commanding tone she used as he took a step back, eyes wandering over her before he did as she said and took a seat at the edge of the bed. He kept his eyes expectantly on hers as she paused for a moment, watching him, before she stepped over to him and stopped in front of him. His hands smoothed over her sides, minding the wound at her hip, as he pulled her just a bit closer to him. Her fingertips scraped along his scalp as he continued to pull her toward him. A crooked grin curled her lips as she straddled his lap, pressing her lips to his heatedly once more. A low hum left him as his hands drifted to the tops of her thighs, fingertips slipping along her smooth skin.

  
By the time they both fell asleep, their eyelids heavy with their exertions and wine they had imbibed of and wrapped around each other in Ayleth’s silk-swathed camp bed, they’d found their pleasures multiple times and in multiple ways. They both realized they had unparalleled stamina and were quite skilled lovers. Jaime was clearly no virgin and Ayleth was no maiden, but neither of them cared. Neither of them saw anything wrong with that in the least, especially since both of them had sworn never to marry. What had surprised Jaime, was when they had both silently figured out they were done for the evening, Ayleth had asked him to stay with her and sleep in her bed. That was something he’d never done with a woman, as he’d always been one to have to hide away in shadows and sneak off. It was a rare occasion to remove his breeches completely for a tryst; to have him stripped completely down, and stay that way for quite some time, felt new and exciting. He was about to try and find an excuse to leave, but the way she was looking up at him from her pillow—her lazy, satisfied smile, her messy dark hair, and glittering violet eyes—kept him in her bed without a second thought for leaving.

  
When Jaime finally stirred the next morning, he found a warm, naked body pressed against his; there was a hand pressed against his chest, an arm around his side, and a smooth, lean, muscular leg draped over his thigh. He blearily blinked open his earthy green eyes, gaze wandering over the sleeping woman beside him. Dark strands of her hair had fallen into her face, which was relaxed with sleep. Her plump lips were parted slightly, drawing in slow, deep breaths of air. He took the time to note the faint freckles that speckled the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Jaime felt a small smile curl his lips despite himself as he lifted his hand from her waist to gently brush aside a strand of hair from her eyes. The woman stirred a bit, her tips twitching for a moment before her eyes fluttered open.

  
Ayleth drew in a deep breath of air, her sleepy eyes drifting over Jaime’s features in the dimly lit tent. A raspy hum sounded from her as a cheeky sort of smile curled her lips before she pulled herself closer to him, burying her face in his chest for a moment. He wrapped his arms more securely around her, something oddly comfortable about waking up next to this woman. Her mouth found his nipple and he smirked to himself before wrapping his arms around her back and tipping their bodies so that he lay on top of her. The woman let out a raspy squeal of a laugh before his mouth covered hers once more. Jaime hummed into the kiss as her lips curled into a wide smile but yielded to the kiss all the same. Shudders wracked his spine at the feeling of the inside of her thigh sliding up his side, past his hip.

  
Instead of occupying themselves for a few hours with another round or two, Jaime knew he probably had to cut their time short, even though he would have been more than happy to stay with Ayleth in her tent for the rest of the day. So, instead of acting upon his first impulse, Jaime merely laid in bed with Ayleth, kissing her and relishing the feel of bare skin against bare skin. Once he’d finally felt he had his fill of her lips and mouth, he pulled away and the sound of their rushed breathing filled the tent once more.

  
“I probably should get dressed soon,” Jaime said, voice heavy with reluctance. Ayleth’s eyes fluttered open and she licked her kiss-plumped lips before nodding slowly, eyes darting between his.

  
“Today we leave to go back to Starfall,” she said softly, hand slipping up his bicep before resting on the crook of his neck. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes slipped over his features. Silence fell between the two of them, but neither of them made any notion to move from the other’s arms or even the bed for that matter. Ayleth’s brow furrowed for a moment before she let out a soft laugh. “I’ve never had a man stay in my bed until morning,” she said softly, shaking her head slowly, “what happens next?”

  
Jaime felt a wry grin curl his lips as he slowly shook his head, a laugh escaping his lips before his expression fell neutral once more. A heavy sigh left him as he brushed his fingers absently through her hair. “I…I’m not sure. I’ve never stayed in a woman’s bed over night,” he replied honestly. His hand found her jaw and he pressed his lips to hers for a moment before shifting to move out of the bed. He stood and stretched his arms above his head, well aware of Ayleth’s eyes on his back. Jaime then began to gather his articles of clothing for the floor, pulling them on piece-by-piece as Ayleth sat up in her bed, the silky sheets bunching up around her waist. He spared a glance to her over his shoulder as he retied his breeches, finding her watching him with a small grin on her lips. He returned the grin before dressing himself completely.

  
He lowered himself down onto the bed to pull on his boots and Ayleth crawled over to him before taking a seat just beside him. Once he’d finished pulling on both boots, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm, causing him to bring his eyes to hers. He merely stared at her for a moment, lost in those amethyst eyes of hers before a bashful sort of grin curled her lips and had her looking away for a moment.

  
“Tell me we will meet again, Ser Jaime,” she said softly, fingertips gently gripping onto his jerkin. “Even if you have to lie to me.” She brought her eyes back to his, her bottom lip gripped tightly between her teeth as her gaze darted between his. Jaime stared at her for a moment before he reached out, gently cupping her jaw in his hand and staring into her eyes.

  
“We will meet again, Ayleth Dayne, true Sword of the Morning,” he said softly, letting the pad of his thumb trail across her soft skin. He saw her eyes light up with his words, a wide, genuine smile curl her lips. He knew there was a slim chance they would ever see each other again, but there was some part of him that wanted to see her again. Beyond the fact that her father was Ser Arthur Dayne, beyond the fact she was a skilled fighter, beyond the fact she was a beautiful woman; there was something about her that made Jaime feel different than he ever had. It drew him into her and he was helpless to it. Even if their time together was ephemeral or once in a lifetime, much like a shooting star, he would not soon forget the beautiful woman that sat before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then, that's the end of this part of the whole story. I have two other parts planned out that I'm currently writing. I should have the first chapter of the second part out sometime soon. Thanks for reading!


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